record of a weather-exposed skeleton
by alice hattercandy
Summary: "Do you believe in magic?" I can't believe in anything but this. -AU
1. the mad and the angelic

**record of a weather-exposed skeleton **

* * *

**I.**

**—**

**i. **"Hm."

"What do you think?"

"I think I need to see your _real _draft."

"That is my _real _draft."

"…You're kidding me, aren't you?"

"No. So what do you think?"

"I think you can do better than this."

"What do you mean? It's—"

"Kurosaki-san, I will give you two weeks to present another draft. I know you can do it. Go out. See the world. You'll be inspired."

—

**ii. **And so he went out to see the world and waited for a jolt of inspiration.

Nothing came.

He decided to take a walk. It was June and the clouds above were gray. It will rain soon. As soon as this thought crossed his mind, it began to pour.

"Damn it." And Urahara and writer's block.

Ichigo ran and stopped under a waiting shed. He stood, shoulders hunched, flanked by two people, glaring at the rain and muttering about the inconveniences of said weather under his breath. He ran a hand through his damp hair and buttoned up his coat.

The heavy water created a mist as it hit the ground, turning the street black. Traffic was still at a standstill. Gazing at the blanks between pedestrians, Ichigo felt the passage of time decelerate.

For a while, he watched as raindrops shattered, creating small circles of water on the ground. A bolt of lightning lit up the sky, followed by a clap of thunder. Ichigo looked up and stared right ahead.

He frowned.

On the other side of the road was a figure. At first, Ichigo thought he imagined it. Soon the blurry edges sharpened. It was a woman. She had no umbrella, and she was already soaked. Thick and wet wavy hair covered her face.

Ichigo's eyebrows cinched. What on earth was she doing? Had she not notice the dismal weather? Didn't she feel the need to protect herself from the rain?

The woman lifted her chin, wet hair parting in the middle. One bright eye peeked out from behind the sodden hair.

Ichigo jerked back, startled. Despite the distance between them, the intensity of her gaze felt like scalpel scoring his flesh. Like claws digging—

—

**iii. **He blinked and the eye was gone. Her hair was covering her face again.

_What the hell was that?_

The woman took a step forward. Another step, and another, and another.

A red Honda came out of nowhere.

The car didn't stop.

The woman didn't stop, either.

—

**iv. **He began to run.

Behind him, people stopped and stared, some were flabbergasted, some yelled. But he did not hear them. His focus was on the woman. He _needed _to save her. The rain blurred his vision, and the road was slippery but he would not be deterred.

He was too late, however.

The red Honda struck the woman. There was a squelching sound followed by a crunching noise. The car went on as though nothing had happened, disappearing behind the rainy mist.

"Shit!" Ichigo skidded to a halt with difficulty. The rain had gotten worst, falling like a ton of bricks, heavy and loud. He dreaded seeing mangled corpse. But he looked. And what he found chilled him.

There was no blood, no body.

No woman.

Ichigo gaped, stupefied.

"The fuck-"

Unnoticed by him, the traffic light flashed green.

High-pitched screeching of tires, frantic honking of horns, and then a shout: _Look out!_

He looked to the side. A pair of lights hit his face.

Then, total darkness.

—

**v. **He woke a day later.

"So you're still alive?"

He knew that voice.

"Ishida," he hissed, eyebrows drawing together.

The doctor said nothing and continued reading his chart. The room was square, white and immaculate, smelled of bleach and void and death. Ishida's pen scribbling across the sheet was loud and annoying, like sharp nails scratching glass.

"You suffered right shoulder dislocation. It wasn't serious. No concussion. No rib fracture," said Ishida, looked up from the chart, and added, "You're lucky." The chart was flipped close, the sound sharp and abrupt. He then put it back on the table and slid his pen into his coat's breast pocket.

The silence annoyed Ichigo. "Spit it out. I know you've got something to say," he grumbled.

"Do you need prescription," asked Ishida instead, putting his hands inside the pockets of his white coat.

Ichigo gave him a dry look. Ishida kept his cold professional façade. It was a bit unnerving but Ichigo will not admit it aloud.

"Lack of sleep may have caused you to see things that weren't there."

A surge of hot anger tore through Ichigo and blazed in his eyes. "I'm not fucking crazy," he hissed between clenched teeth, eyes narrowed.

"I'm not saying you are."

Fists clenched, spine straight, Ichigo sat up and bellowed, "Then don't look at me like that!"

"Ichigo."

The use of his first name helped calm him down. Still heaving with anger, Ichigo shoved a hand through his hair, grabbed a fistful and tugged.

"I don't know how it felt like to lose an important person," Ishida began, a flicker of _Uryuu _peeking out from underneath his cold doctor visage. "What I understand is that you're having a hard time. Take it easy and sleep."

Ichigo let out an irritated sigh, laid down and stared up to the ceiling. Closing his eyes, he said, "Don't tell Dad."

Ishida said nothing and left.

—

**vi. **Urahara gave him reprieve. Another two weeks, Kurosaki-san, he said. I know you can do it. Go out. See the world. You'll be inspired.

He grunted as he stepped out of Urahara's office. He lingered there, thinking, face sullen. Several passersby glanced at him cautiously, careful not to step in his way and attract his attention and ire. Ichigo noticed the stares, the way people avoid his path. He did not care; he had stopped caring about his appearance a long time ago, grew accustomed to the eyes that wondered if he was a thug who recently gotten out of jail. He never cared about what other people say and think of him. What they think was their business, not his.

He decided to take a walk. It was June and the clouds above were gray. It will rain soon.

As soon as this thought crossed his mind, it began to pour.

"Damn it." And Urahara and writer's block.

Ichigo ran and stopped under a waiting shed. He stood, shoulders hunched, flanked by two people, glaring at the rain and muttering about the inconveniences of said weather under his breath. He ran a hand through his damp hair and buttoned up his coat.

The heavy water created a mist as it hit the ground, turning the street black. Traffic was still at a standstill. Gazing at the blanks between pedestrians, Ichigo felt the passage of time decelerate.

For a while, he watched as raindrops shattered, creating small circles of water on the ground. A bolt of lightning lit up the sky, followed by a clap of thunder. Ichigo looked up and stared right ahead.

He froze.

His hands clenched into fists. This was _too_ familiar.

Back stiff, he watched the people under umbrellas pass. The road was empty, and the traffic light was red. Heart racing, he looked straight ahead.

No one was standing on the other side of the road. Still, he waited with trepidation.

The traffic light flashed green.

He went rigid, suddenly unable to breathe. His body was frozen, his lungs were frozen. He could not see anything – everything was a blur. He could not feel his hands, legs and feet – he had become nothing. The void itself. He felt as though he stepped into an entirely different dimension, a black hole, where there was nothing but emptiness. The sound of rain disappeared, only the wild thump of his heart was audible, like the tick tock of a clock in an empty room. The volume increased until he felt like he was drowning in sounds and beats, driven mad by the sound of his own heartbeat. The world spun, making him dizzy, and there was a wild whirring in his ears.

_oh her hair is so brown, her eyes _

_are so yellow_

"_I'm sorry. We did our best. I'm sorry."_

People saying sorry, so sorry for your loss. Oh her hair is so brown, her eyes are so yellow, we're so sorry for your loss.

Fuck off.

I don't need your pity.

_oh her hair is so brown, her eyes _

—

**vii. **"Are you alright?"

—

**viii. **He blinked. Then.

_What– _

It was raining. The weight of his briefcase he held in his hand was familiar.

Eyes wide, wild with confusion, he turned his head to his right. There was a fork of lightning piercing the sky and it lit up the street, giving him a quick snapshot of the stranger's face.

"Are you alright?" the soft voice repeated.

Another lightning. A flicker of blue light. The stranger moved closer.

A girl, it was a girl with long hair and unforgettable face – a Titian painting that came to life.

She smiled, and it was incredible.

"Are you okay?"

She wore a gray toggle coat that was two sizes too big. Her hair was thick, her face almost hidden by it. Two periwinkle hairclips twinkled from each side of her head, but some hair escaped and stubbornly curled around her cheeks and between her eyes. There was an air of charming innocence about her.

He cleared his throat and looked away upon realizing he was staring.

"I–I'm fine," he grunted.

"I'm glad. For a second there, I thought you're going to collapse."

Ichigo inhaled deeply, nodded, distracted. He can still feel the frantic beat of his heart, the odd beat in his ears. What had happened?

"Oh. The storm's over."

He glanced at her; she was wearing an odd expression, one that was sad, contemplative, tender and happy all at the same time. There was a strange smile on her lips. Surprising him, she looked at him straight in the eye; her eyes were golden honey.

She blinked, gazed away, staring somewhere past his ear, and then she smiled at him; just a quick quirking of the corner of her lips before saying, "Be careful on your way home."

With that she walked away, stepping on puddles, and he found himself looking after her.

—

**ix. **He met her again, under the same waiting shed. Like before, it was raining and she was humming a song.

When she turned towards him and smiled, Ichigo was charmed. It disarmed him. He was usually wary of strangers, but there was something about her that strongly drew him to her. It was strong, and it was alarming. Alarming because he did not know what it was, did not know how to deal with it. He had never felt this way before. It felt as though his soul was starving and only her presence could alleviate the hunger.

Despite his initial reservation, ignoring his cynical inner-self mocking him for daring to talk to a beautiful girl, Ichigo asked her name. He noticed her hesitate, averting her gaze, biting her lip. He almost told her to forget about it but she smiled up at him. This time, it lasted a second too long.

_Inoue Orihime, _she said.

He told her his. _Kurosaki Ichigo._

_One who protects._

It was rare to meet people who knew exactly what his name meant. It made her even more endearing.

When the rain stopped, he said, _I'll walk you home_.

She looked surprised. He, too, was surprised at his audacity. As they stared at each other, Ichigo felt his heart thud violently. He did not know where it came from, this reaction to her. There was something in her wide eyes, something strange – something that made her fascinating, lovely.

The corners of her lips lifted. A lovely smile.

She turned to face him fully. He cannot see her eyes for she was standing with the streetlight behind her, casting a shadow over her face. But he knew she was smiling.

_You're too kind._

He did not know what it was or if it was just his imagination. It was in the way she said those words. Perhaps it was her soft, hypnotizing voice. But there was something about her that chilled his blood, made his hair stand on end, made him want to retract his offer. It was telling him that this was not a good idea. That he should walk away _now_ before he got too deep into _this_.

Nonetheless, Ichigo eventually forgot about that feeling as he walked beside her. As they left the waiting shed, he could hear a faint, distant buzz of the song she had hummed under her breath.

It sounded a lot like solitude.

—

**x. **She lived in a two storey apartment which lacked proper lighting. The stairs were rickety, and they made noises under his old sneakers. She said she lived alone but she had nice neighbors: Morita-san who was on a vacation, Iwao-san who was living separately from his wife and Kaede-san, who gave her free food every now and then. The room next to hers was empty.

It was a simple apartment. There was a stuffed toy sitting on top of the cabinet which she fondly called Enraku. The place was clean, and it reeked of loneliness. It was unbearable. In fact, the moment he set foot inside her room, he started shaking. What was that feeling?

It felt like something was sitting on his shoulders and something thick was around his neck.

Nevertheless, it didn't stop him from wanting to see her. He walked her home everyday since the night he asked her name. Why, perhaps he was curious; he had never met a woman like her. Beautiful, quirky, charming, and although she was constantly smiling, there was something about her that he could not decipher. She was a puzzle he wanted to spend the rest of his life solving. A beautiful puzzle, incomplete, ruined_. _It was like she was there, smiling, but at the same time, it felt like she wasn't there, that she wasn't real. It was an unsettling feeling.

This feeling, however, instantly vanished when one night as they talked, she touched his hand for a fleeting seven seconds.

A spark.

Their eyes met.

In that moment, he knew he was doomed.

When he kissed her, everything began to spiral out of control.

—

* * *

**notes.**

something old and weird i found on my junk folder! 8D 9 chapters max- I hope? gosh why is it hard for me to finish things /clutches face

ok I've been writing this for weeks as some sort of therapy because i'm in the middle of writing crisis D: ahh it's really frustrating y'kno? /rolls over; i'll head back to brutally editing my major projects once my writing improves yey

**disclaimer. **(_the) record of a weather-exposed skeleton _– is the title of the first journal of Basho


	2. death which lovers love

**record of a weather-exposed skeleton**

* * *

**II.**

—

**i. **Raindrops streaked the gray windows, and from the bed she watched them, unwilling to rise.

Another day.

Another punishment.

Eventually, she rose from her sanctuary, blood rushing to her feet. Her pale legs shook from unexpected weight. She flexed her arm, examined the imprints of sheets on her white skin, and dropped her hand to the side.

Seven days of serious contemplation, seven days of doing nothing. And she was still unable to move forward. What would her brother say?

Thirty minutes later, dressed and a yellow umbrella held above her head, she stepped out to the street. She did not know where to go, only knew she had to be somewhere not clogged with memories.

Upon reaching an intersection, she took a right turn and got onto an empty sidewalk. She stuck her hand out, raindrops falling between her fingers. Then something surreal happened to her. As Orihime tilted her umbrella until she felt drops hit her nose, she felt at peace. She dropped her umbrella to the side. All around her was the rain.

Hair sticking to her cheeks, she eyed the ongoing traffic. Oh how easy it would be. Just one step, just one and-

A bolt of lightning lit up the sky, followed by a clap of thunder.

She started and looked up.

"Onii-chan…" she mumbled, blinking as raindrops struck her face.

_You were always protecting me._

Tears dripped from her eyes, mingling with rainwater. She smiled, lips quivering. Then it was gone, hidden as she ducked her head to rub her eyes with her sleeve. Taking a deep shaky breath, she lifted the umbrella above her head and walked home.

After wiping herself dry, she sorted her mails, took out the garbage, cleaned the rooms, did the laundry, and cooked an extravagant dinner. The next day was Tuesday.

She called her employer's secretary.

"Four-thirty, on Thursday. Is it okay?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Inoue-san. It's good to hear from you."

—

**ii. **On Thursday, she dressed in a long skirt and rose-colored close-fitting sweater over a white blouse. On her way to the door, she put on her coat and dropped her keys inside her purse.

The meeting was short. Pleasantries first, followed by serious discussion.

"_Ara, it's Orihime-san?"_

"_Un."_

"_I almost didn't recognize you. You've lost so much weight."_

_She gave a timid smile._

"_I'm sorry, Ukitake-san… I missed work for almost a week without notice. I know I should've called but it was…" she trailed off, bowing her head in shame._

"_You need not to apologize. Please. I understand."_

"_Thank you."_

"_Say, Orihime-san, why don't you take a vacation?"_

"_B-But…"_

_Ukitake smiled kindly. "Go somewhere. Furano, Naha, Okayama. There are a lot of things you can do in two weeks. You deserve it. You always work hard. Never taking vacations, always the last one to leave. I know you love your work but every now and then, you need to slow down and enjoy your youth."_

_Orihime bit her lip, brow creased and unable to meet Ukitake's eyes._

"_I miss your creativity and the love you put in your work. Most of our patrons have been asking for you. They miss your artistic touch. But your health is my priority."_

"_But I'm fine, Ukitake-san! I don't get sick– never got sick so-"_

"_We all have our demons."_

_She stiffened, her face suddenly turning white as paper._

"_It's either we run away or we face them head on. Often times, we do nothing. And thus they linger."_

_Ukitake stood, walked around his desk and put a hand on her shoulder. She looked up to him, eyes murky like cold coffee._

"_Enjoy your break, okay?"_

Orihime sighed, turned to the left and started to walk towards the station. The train ride was short. As she walked home, it began to rain lightly, and she ducked into the cover of the nearest bus stop. The rain later turned into a storm. She checked her watch. At six-twenty five, the street was dark because of the mist. Orihime drew her coat tighter around her, and listened. The sound of trickling water was soothing, like a melody sung by blue birds. She was entirely alone, or so she thought.

Her eyes wandered to the side.

Standing at the far side of the shed was a tall man. He seemed to be lost in his thoughts, wearing a peculiar expression, eyes fixed somewhere in front of him.

She studied his profile, the shape of his jaw attracting most of her attention. Then her eyes fell on his fist. It was curled so tightly that veins were visible, and it shook with violence that shocked her. Orihime stepped nearer, wary but determined to find out if the stranger was okay.

"Are you alright?"

He blinked and turned to look at her. Orihime felt as though struck. His eyes were brown with flecks of amber, aglow with fierceness, alive with something both dangerous and tender. She had never seen someone with such eyes. There was a storm in there, or blazing inferno, or intense disorder– she did not know.

Orihime swallowed and repeated in a quivering voice, "Are you alright?"

—

**iii. **Urahara nodded, very impressed.

"An amazing start, Kurosaki-san." Urahara smiled up at the younger man. "So, you found your inspiration?"

Ichigo said nothing.

_It found me._

—

**iv.** Ichigo told himself: _it won't happen again. _

Once was enough. It was a careless slip-up. It had been the obscene chemistry between them, nothing else.

Then:

—

**v. **Saturday.

There were three stripes of moonlight on the floor.

"Kurosaki-kun…" she whispered, her breaths coming out as choked and strangled. They felt hot and trembling against his damp skin. She writhed under him, gasping, clawing into his back.

He groaned and panted, clutching the sheet, his thrusts getting out of control, almost forceful. In and out, in and out, in and out until he felt lost, unhinged, hungrier than ever. Gritting his teeth, breaths shorter, he gripped her around her waist, lifting her against him. Her head fell back, revealing her slender neck. Ichigo leaned forward and latched on the creamy flesh of her neck, sucking at her skin, memorizing her taste.

She was more addictive than chocolate. And he could not get enough of her taste, her scent. Panting, he clenched her hair, damp with sweat, and drove deeply into her tight heat.

A gasp escaped her lips, her spine taut, and Ichigo felt sweaty legs wrap around his waist tightly, ankles lacing. He felt hotter, more sheathed in her warmth, feeling sweat drip from his jaw to his neck, joining the others clinging to his chest.

Jaw clenched, he pulled away, hands tracing her shoulders, then her ribs, finally cupping her bottom.

Freckles scattered like stars, the curve between her hip and waist, the near-translucence of her pelvic bone, where their bodies kissed sweetly – all of these, the flaws and the splendor, filed away in a special cabinet inside his head, never to be forgotten.

A tremor tore through her body. Ichigo felt it and held her tighter. Squirming, she gasped and panted. With desperation, Orihime gripped the blankets, chest heaving as she panted out his name. Face flushed, biting her lip, she met his gaze, eyes blazing. She was close, and seemed more determined to confine her moans.

Ichigo licked his lip, narrowing his eyes in resolve. He wanted to hear her, see her lose control. He tilted her hips and stroked her swollen nub with his thumb. She jerked, a mixture of a choke and sob escaping her. Neck arching, her back bowed off the bed. She seemed to vibrate with energy, ready to burst.

Again and again, he lunged and thrust into her, forgetting his strength and her defenselessness. She quivered around him wildly, gripping his length, pulling him in. Ichigo groaned against her wet skin, eyes squeezed shut. Bending down, he took one nipple into his mouth, swirled his tongue around it and sucked hard. Long fingers stroke his hair and later gripped and pulled them. Pain-pleasure gutted him, twisting inside him before tearing through him.

Lifting his eyes, still sucking, Ichigo saw her watching him. She looked as though she wanted to say something but can't. With one last rough lick on her nipple, he raised himself and took her mouth. He then sat back and twisted her so that she was lying on her side, straddled her thigh and lifted her other leg. She cried out as he thrust back into her.

He was a man of discipline, always in control of his emotions and body. He hated not being in control. He was that impenetrable hot-tempered man who never let anyone in, who never revealed his emotions.

But her eyes had captured him, trapped him, that night.

How the mighty had fallen.

She wriggled harder, taking more of him.

"Fuck," he hissed as she clenched him hard, gritting his teeth at her eagerness.

He could not hold back anymore.

He pushed her to her back and kissed her. Her fingers threaded through his hair, kissing him back. Pulling away, Ichigo watched her, head falling back, mouth opened, the tip of her tongue touching the corner of her lip. The very picture of her, on the verge of peaking, was driving him mad, and he was shaking from all the feelings boiling inside him. He was not sure whether it was because he feared this could be the last or that he wanted more.

"H-Hurry… P-Please…"

Still watching her, Ichigo slid a hand over the curve of her hip and grazed her clit with his thumb. When her eyes widened, a lazy smirk turned up the corner of his lips. Her hand shot up to grasp at his forearm, a wanton cry finally escaping her when he took her between his thumb and index. At the same time, he slammed back in.

She was fucking beautiful when she finally came. All of her restraints were broken, head thrown back, body arching off the bed. Both unrestrained, they became a tangled, writhing mess of bodies, sheets and sweat. Ichigo's movements became uneven, feral, forcing himself to go deeper as far as he can go until he reached his own release, the peak of his and her madness.

—

**vi. **It was four in the morning.

The green light on his answering machine was blinking. After a quick shower, in his pajama bottoms, he listened to his messages. One came from his sister, three were work-related.

He flipped open his cell phone. Two messages. He opened one.

_Can we meet?_

He began to construct a reply in his head. But as he sat down at his desk, he got distracted by the manuscript, and remembered the sound of her voice, how she pronounced his name, _Kurosaki-kun, _not Ichigo – not yet. He imagined a trickle of sweat dripping down her throat, between her collarbones before dropping between her breasts as she tossed her head back in such a manner that reminded him of a sonnet.

He clenched his jaw and fists, closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He ran a hand through his damp hair.

Breathed, remembered.

His eyes opened. For a moment, he gazed at the nothingness before him, his body hard, trembling, craving her. He grabbed a pen from the tray and began to write, cell phone forgotten.

—

**vii. **On Wednesdays, they meet at three.

She would sit by a window, watching the passing pedestrians. People fascinated her. People with places to go, people with no places to go, people rushing to their futures, people trapped in their past.

It was two-forty, and jazz music wafted from overhead speakers.

A waitress approached her table. "Can I get you anything, girl?"

The older woman knew this girl, one of their regulars. She always sat by the same window, always twenty minutes early for her three o'clock appointment. Her face was one of the prettiest she had ever seen, with eyes like gems, catching the light streaming from the window.

"Tea, please, Chiyo-san."

"Anything else? You sure? Not hungry at all?"

She had a pretty smile. "Maybe later."

"Right. Give me a minute, hon."

"Thank you."

At three, the doors swung open, and a girl with black hair stepped in. Upon seeing the auburn-haired girl by the window, she shook her head as she approached the table.

"Punctual as ever, eh, Orihime?" she said.

"Hi, Tatsuki-chan!"

The same waitress arrived, tray in hand. "Coffee or tea?"

—

**viii. **"Orihime?"

The expression on her face was a new one, Tatsuki noticed. She had no name for it, for now. But it was a good expression, fresh, and it accentuated the loveliness of her face. Two weeks had passed since the 17th and Orihime looked full again, her complexion no longer pale like fine china.

"You were saying…?"

"Oh." Orihime looked down, fiddled with the coaster and tried again. "I…"

Tatsuki waited for her friend to continue, but Orihime stared out to the window. She was watching people, watching their faces, their body language. It was one of her habits: observing people, their hand motions, how busy they were, how every movement seemed to have a purpose. Tatsuki thought it was both weird and cute.

"I met someone."

Tatsuki stared, astounded. She did not expect that. What totally floored her was the blush coloring Orihime's cheeks and glow of life in her eyes.

And she was smiling. "He has a funny face."

Tatsuki, she had waited for this for a long time.

"Tatsuki-chan?"

She blinked. "Sorry, I was – Orihime, that's great!" She grinned. It faded, though, when she noticed Orihime worry her lip, eyes downcast.

"What's wrong?"

Orihime shook her head. "It's not important."

"I don't believe you. What is it? Tell me."

The jazz music ended. Another one began.

"I'm afraid." Orihime had a peculiar expression on her face. "Somehow, I know, I… I'll ruin him."

"Don't say that."

"It's true. I can feel it." The light pouring from the window made her hair glow, as though she were on fire. Her eyes, catching light, were luminous. "This will not end well. I spoil everything I touch. I – I have to stop this before–"

Tatsuki reached out and took Orihime's hand.

"Listen to me. You've got to let someone in."

She smiled, lovely and kind and sad. "I have Tatsuki-chan."

"Of course, Orihime," she said. "We're soul mates." Orihime's eyes watered, chin quivering. "But I'm not the one you need."

Orihime blinked and stared. And Tatsuki, she felt an indescribable sense of sadness. Why do you love your distress? You wear tragedy so well. Tatsuki wanted to say. Even in your misery, you're beautiful. Why won't you let someone save you?

"Try, Orihime. Be brave. You've always been the strong one."

Her eyes turned more limpid. It reminded Tatsuki of a cloudless sky. "No. I'm weak."

"That's not true. But you, you're a coward." Tatsuki felt her friend flinch. "Be brave. You've got to try."

"Tatsuki-chan…"

"You'll be fine."

"I'll be fine."

They smiled.

—

**ix. **She paints in secret.

Tatsuki knew and had seen some of her pieces. She would smile softly at the image, pat her head and say how talented she was.

_This_, she would say, _breathes_. _This is like magic._

In oversize shirt and plaid pajama bottoms, she reproduced the clouds outside, the bustling cityscape, the stray flowers and lazing cats. The walls were covered in unfinished canvases of watercolor landscapes, acrylic still lifes, and charcoal and pastel portraits.

She used crayons when she sketched her brother. Oranges, violets, greens – his favorite colors. His portraits were the only ones she finished. In her drawings, his life went on and on and on.

He was infinite.

She opened the curtains and looked up to the sky.

There were three stripes of sunlight on the floor at sunset.

—

**x. **"Magic," she said. "Do you believe in magic?"

She was sitting by the window, dressed in his white button-down shirt.

Ichigo stared at the laptop screen, then, tilted his head up so that he was looking at her silhouette.

_I wish I do._

She turned her head and smiled at him.

I can't believe in anything but this, he wanted to say but didn't.

This being an addiction, obsession – he did not know anymore. Whatever it was – _this – _was indescribable.

Every night, he would come to her; they'd talk, drink tea. Once they touched, the air would become still. They'd stare at each other quietly, and he would reach for her hand. Their skin will touch and a spark will ignite, initiating an explosion of fiery need and ferocious whirlwind of desire. He knew, at that moment, that no matter how many times he'd tell himself to _stop _and walk away, it would be futile. The need to sleep with her was all-consuming, a hunger that ate his soul. He would become so hard it was impossible for him to walk and breathe properly.

And so, it became a cycle, an endless waltz.

She would give herself to him, and he would make love to her like a starved man. Her wanton responses to his touch were electric, and it made him crave for her even more. He had never made love to a woman before with such ferocity and carnal desire. He had never met a woman before who had such a profound, violent impact on him. He was greedy for her, and so was she.

At dawn, as she lay next to him, head on his chest, he would wonder: _who is she?_ Where did she come from?

What are we?

—

**xi. **She woke one Sunday, alone in bed. She watched the idle dance of curtains, trying to catch a glimpse of blue sky.

Dressed in white robe, she stepped out of the room, feet carrying her to the kitchen without conscious thought.

When she arrived there, she saw a vision that drove her eyes to glaze.

Orange hair lit by the sunlight coming from the window, he looked angelic. He was dressed only in jeans, hanging low around his leans hips. In his hand, he was clutching a box of pancake mix. When he raised his hand to scratch the back of his head, his biceps bunched together, his veins visible, powerful and thudding underneath skin.

It was the first time she had seen him so clearly, illuminated by sunlight– _real_ light, not fluorescence or candlelight, and it was overwhelming.

Breath caught, she stared at his profile, the world around her fading, coagulating in one color.

Ichigo felt her presence and turned to face her. The frontal view was more visually appealing. Her mouth went dry. A tug behind her breastbone nagged Orihime. It went down, very slowly, like a trickle of hot oil, to her belly, coagulating there.

"Hey."

She didn't answer; she was afraid to move, afraid to break the spell. She felt an itch to get a pencil and a paper, to memorize this moment, imprint this in her memory for future reference.

The itch got stronger. To curb it, she clenched her fist, tried to look away but can't. Didn't want to.

He put the box on the counter and stared at her. A small smile spread over his face.

"Your eyes are so brown…" His head tipped slightly to the side, his hair fiery, luminous. "You look…" He hesitated, smile fading, eyebrows drawing together, looking as though he was unsure, afraid to say the wrong words.

He looked away briefly, scratched the back of his neck and gazed at her again.

"You…" His frown deepened, fists cinching and unclenching. Then: "You look really… pr-" Ichigo cleared his throat and looked away.

She blinked up at him. "I look…?"

Ichigo ran a hand through his hair and gave her a lopsided smile. "Morning light on your face and hair. Hair tousled. The light hitting your eyes. You look real." Then he grinned. "I no longer felt like I dreamed you."

Orihime stared at him for what felt like the longest time, her face coloring gradually until she looked completely flushed. Then the corners of her lips tugged up in a smile, a small, flickering smile, like sunlight just peeking through the blinds.

Then to his surprise, her smile turned into a grin then she laughed.

—

* * *

**notes. **I'm one week late aww man! Nevertheless I hope this installment is ok! Thank you for reading, thank you for the reviews, thank you! see ya next week (≧◡≦)


	3. alternate universe

**warnings! **strong M content, language

**record of a weather-exposed skeleton**

* * *

**III. **

**—**

**i. **"You just came back two days ago. I hope you're not getting overwhelmed with all the orders."

Orihime looked up from her sketch pad and smiled at Ukitake. "It's okay. I enjoy making them. Oh, by the way, I made something new." She rose from her chair, and collected something from the large refrigerator.

"I need your opinion. It's baked cheese soufflé with fresh cream and crushed puff pastry, and topped with fresh strawberries."

Ukitake studied the round cake thoughtfully. "It looks pretty."

Orihime giggled.

"I hope it tastes delicious too! Ne, Kiyone-chan, please hand me a small plate, a knife and fork. Thank you." To Ukitake, she said, "Here, have a slice, please." Ukitake thanked her and took his first bite.

Ukitake's face lit up. "It's delicious!" he exclaimed. "This will be a hit. As always, great work, Orihime-chan!"

She gave him a small bow. "Th-Thank you, Ukitake-san," said Orihime, smiling gratefully.

"Ah, is that Nakajima-san's cake?" He pointed to her sketch.

"Un."

"Looked complicated."

Orihime rubbed a spot underneath her chin. "She's very particular with the details. She wanted a three tiered white cake with pink flowers. She's dropping by tomorrow to choose among the five designs I've drawn."

"I see. Anyway, have you thought about Kuchiki's offer?"

Wide brown eyes blinked up at him. "Oh. Um, I…" She averted her gaze, worrying her lip.

Ukitake smiled kindly. "Don't worry too much about it. Take your time. Whatever your decision will be, I will support you."

"It's a good offer," murmured Orihime, eyes downcast.

"It is. London?"

"Lisbon."

Ukitake nodded and turned to leave. "Now, don't work too hard, Orihime-chan. Or else I'll have to force you to take a vacation again."

"Oh! I'm fine, really! I'm sorry for worrying you."

"Don't be. I'm just glad you finally took a break. You always work too hard." Orihime smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of her head. "Well, you seem to be doing more than fine. Something good must have happened. You look happier." He chuckled as Orihime's face turned red, the flush spreading up to her ears and down her neck. "Okay, I think it's time to let you go back to work. See you later."

The door slid shut as Ukitake left. Orihime cupped her face and patted her warm cheeks.

_You look happier._

This remark confused her somehow. Shaking her head, she focused on her sketch and made corrections to make it less flamboyant.

As she made a list of ingredients for a new recipe, her cell phone sang. Without averting her gaze from the list, she plunged her free hand into her pocket.

"Hello."

"Hey."

Her heart gave a pleasant jolt. Warmth blossomed in her chest and spread outwards. It felt like she had consumed a mug of warm chocolate.

"H-Hi, Kurosaki-kun."

"Are you busy?"

"No." When he said nothing, she said, "Kurosaki-kun, are you still there?"

"Yeah. Just thinking."

"What's on your mind?"

There were shuffling of feet, silence, and, "…Damn it," he muttered and cleared his throat. "Uh, do you have any plans tonight?"

She stiffened, cheeks hot, tiny aftershocks prickling her heart.

"I-I don't have anything p-planned," Orihime mumbled.

"We could get dinner or you can come over to my place."

"Oh. Are you going to make dinner?"

"Yeah."

A laugh escaped her, the sound full and natural.

"Oi. What's funny?"

"N-N-Nothing!"

"Orihime."

Orihime blushed deeply at the way he said her name. "I, um, I'm just surprised."

"Why? I cooked a couple of times for you."

"I know. You make very fluffy pancakes, Kurosaki-kun."

"Are you insinuating that I can't cook real food?"

She pressed her fingers to her lips to muffle her laugh.

"I can still hear you, you know."

"Okay, I'll stop." She bit her bottom lip but kept smiling.

He grunted.

"Well?"

She licked her lips and her face went red again. "Okay." Ichigo blew out a breath.

"You remember how to get to my place? Or do you want to meet somewhere?"

Orihime smiled softly. "I'll be okay, Kurosaki-kun. I'll be there at…" She glanced at her wristwatch, thinking what to bring for dessert. "Nine, is it okay?"

"Yeah. Don't forget your umbrella."

—

**ii. **After work, she stopped at the convenience store and bought ingredients. The dessert was made, and she cleaned the kitchen with vicious attention, took out the trash and folded the freshly-washed linens. Orihime was so preoccupied she lost track of time. When she looked up and saw the time, eight-fifteen, she panicked.

In the middle of choosing her outfit, the phone rang. Hair dripping wet, she ran to answer it but it stopped ringing abruptly, followed by the electronic voice of her answering machine.

The tiny green light flashed, recording, but nothing came.

Then, click.

_How odd, _Orihime thought as she dressed.

She managed to get out of her apartment but ran back for the dessert. In the elevator up to Ichigo's floor, Orihime caught her reflection in a wall. Balancing the container in one hand, she combed her tangled hair with her fingers. They slipped easily through her fingers like water. She then ran a quivering hand over her pleated skirt and tugged at the hem even though it was long enough to cover her knees.

Ichigo answered the door in a tomato-stained apron, hair disheveled, tomato sauce in the corner of his mouth.

"Hey." He gave her a small smile and then raised an eyebrow when he caught her staring. "What?" he asked, head tilted to the side, his bangs falling to cover one eye.

"Um, you have-" Orihime pointed to the corner of her mouth. Ichigo frowned, and his tongue darted out to lick off the sauce.

"What's this?" he said, taking the dessert from her while Orihime removed her coat and shoes.

"Oh, stick that in the refrigerator, please. It's moist chocolate cake."

Ichigo froze. "Chocolate…"

She giggled. "Dinner first, Kurosaki-kun." Ichigo grunted and moved to the kitchen. Orihime followed him and took a seat at one of the tall barstools.

"Do you need help?"

"No. Almost done."

"What's on the menu?"

"Lasagna."

"Oh!"

Ichigo looked at her over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised. "'Oh?'"

"Where did you learn how to cook Italian?"

He gave a quick, crooked grin. "I've got my secrets," he said as he stepped over the oven. Orihime pouted and propped her elbows on the counter, her chin on her hands as she swung her legs back and forth.

"But don't get your hopes up. I'm not as good as my sister."

She blinked and stared long and hard at his back, the white linen stretched taut over his back. She could see the outline of his muscles move and lengthen as he worked. The hair on the back of his neck parted as he bent lower, revealing his nape. She cast her eyes to the countertop.

_A sister? How old is she? What's her favorite color? Does she have your hair color, your smile? _She wanted to ask, but did not, could not. This uncertainty was not out of shyness. Orihime knew what they were and what they were not. And thus, in spite of the desire to explore the landscape of his life, she kept herself at a distance, revealing nothing. In this alternate universe, there is no past or future. There's just _now_.

"What's wrong?"

She started and looked up, hands dropping from her chin. Ichigo had turned around, leaning on the counter.

Orihime went red at the distance between their faces and floundered for words.

"Wh-What?"

His frown deepened. "Are you okay?"

She nodded vigorously. "I feel good."

The look in his eyes intensified, a vivid glint glowing within them. One of the things she found extraordinarily appealing about Ichigo was his expressive eyes. Oftentimes he appeared cold and unfriendly, even frightening to some, but his eyes were different; they were earnest, full of stories and hidden knowledge.

Even so, she found Ichigo difficult to read. There were a myriad of emotions she could not identify in his gestures and posture, in the way he held, touched and looked at her. It felt like he was handing her something.

Ichigo faced away from her and opened a drawer.

"Come on, help me set the table."

—

**iii. **After dinner, Ichigo declined Orihime's offer to wash the dishes. She insisted to help and he acquiesced by allowing her to dry the dishes. They chatted as they worked; she'd teased him about his fondness for chocolate and he'd scowled and denied it.

"Do you want to watch some movies?" Ichigo asked as he dried his hands.

Standing by the opened sliding door, Orihime was looking over the pots of morning glories in the corner of the balcony. Upon hearing his question, she glanced at him and blushed, feeling bashful. She flashed him a shy smile and was about to answer when the lights flickered before completely going out.

"Shit." Ichigo dropped the hand towel. "Stay where you are," he ordered. "I'll– fucking hell!"

"Kurosaki-kun?"

"I'm fine. Just stubbed my fucking toe," Ichigo grunted, bracing an arm over what felt like the counter.

"I left my purse on the counter. You can use my cell phone."

Ichigo reached out, palm flat, feeling around.

A bellow of thunder rumbled outside, rattling the windowpanes. Orihime squeaked, flinching. A gust of wind blew through the opened doorway. A second later, lightning streaked across the black sky like white veins. Then rain came, light and susurrous. It fell slowly, then all at once, and the world was transformed in an instant.

The sound of the sliding door being shut snapped Orihime out of her reverie. The fairy-like glow from her cell phone revealed Ichigo's presence beside her.

"It's probably power outage. The management was making some repairs this afternoon in the ground floor where the generators are." He looked down at her and handed the cell phone to her, looking worried despite the frown on his face.

"Did you get wet?"

Orihime chafed her arm. "Just a little."

"Did you bring an umbrella?"

She laughed nervously. "I forgot."

Ichigo shook his head, a small smile on his lips. Thunder grumbled overhead. Fat raindrops shattered against the glass.

"You can stay if you like."

Orihime turned to him slowly. Tiny white light illuminated their closeness. Ichigo was watching her, eyes lidded.

"I…"

She swallowed, licked her dry lips, and dropped her gaze, blushing. The back of her fingers brushed against his as she shifted. A shudder raced down her spine at the electric contact, wild heat flashing through her.

Orihime lifted her head and met Ichigo's eyes just as the cell phone's light died.

"Okay," she whispered. Her breath caught when Ichigo took her hand in his so that their fingers intertwined.

Another lightning tore a pathway in the sky, followed by long, sonorous thunder.

The sky was roaring, alive.

—

**iv. **And so was her heart.

Ichigo leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.

They kissed slowly in the dark as though they were sharing a delicate secret. It felt surreal, like this room existed outside of time. But the sense of rightness was there. She could taste it in his lips.

His lips parted, and Orihime slipped her tongue into his mouth. She tasted tomatoes, wine and chocolate. The combination fascinated her, made her crave for more. His other hand slid over the back of her neck, fingers rubbing tiny circles on her nape.

As Ichigo withdrew, Orihime took a shaky breath, her heart gripped by a frenzy of emotions. She drew her bottom lip between her teeth and sucked the taste he left on her lip. He ran the tip his tongue along her upper lip. She gasped, and Ichigo caught her lower lip between his teeth and drew it into his mouth, sucking it. Releasing her lip, his mouth covered hers in a hard kiss.

Orihime writhed, seeking closer, harder contact. He released her hand and slid his arm around her, pressing her hard against him. She sighed at his warmth and mouthwatering scent, burrowing deeper into his embrace. His hand swept up and down her back, heavy and hot, before curving over her hip, squeezing her hard enough to make her moan and squirm.

The lights flickered back to life.

Ichigo pulled away, panting. Breathing heavily, he scowled as he looked around, licking his lips, before gazing at Orihime. Face flushed, her eyes were shut, lips red and swollen as she gasped for air.

A clap of thunder made her open her eyes.

And then she smiled.

He swallowed, ignoring the sudden fullness he felt in his chest. Jaw clenched and body strung tight, he slid his hand from her nape to her shoulder, down her white arm, and encircled her wrist with his fingers. Her pulse fluttered under his touch like a tiny wing.

Her cell phone slipped out from her grasp, caught by the rug.

The next roar of thunder and nervous rattling of windows muffled the ringing. The cell phone blinked and buzzed for a moment before going still.

Not breaking eye contact with her, Ichigo put her small hand on his shoulder. Slender fingers trailed up to his neck, brushing his ear, and slid into his hair. Still smiling, Orihime curved her fingers into a loose fist, tugged him down by his hair, and he was kissing her again, alternately nipping and sucking her lips. He scattered kisses down her neck, tasting her skin and scent, her pulse jumping at the wet scrape of his teeth across her collarbone.

A gasp escaped her when his teeth nicked her skin, and she sighed when his tongue soothed the cut. His lips reached the top of her breastbone. The top button was straining as his hand fisted on the front of her top.

Uncurling his fingers and spreading them, Ichigo gently stroked her stomach. She inhaled sharply and a shivery sigh parted her lips. As his mouth moved lower, he pulled at her top until a button popped.

Breaths shorter and coarser, he shoved the collar aside and tasted the swell of the tops of her breasts. Ichigo focused on a spot, biting and sucking hard until Orihime was whining, tugging at his hair.

Licking the mark he left on her breast, he grasped her bottom and rocked her against him. Orihime whimpered, panting as she moved with him. Then she sucked in a hot breath as he lifted her, shapely legs wounding tight around his middle, and walked to his room.

Several steps after, Ichigo stiffened, his breath hissing from between his teeth. Orihime had lowered herself so that her core was aligned with his erection and ground against him lightly. However lightly she had moved, his knees wobbled as pure lust shot straight to his erection.

_Fuck._

They collapsed against a wall in the hallway. Pinning her against the wall, Ichigo found the skin between her neck and shoulder with his mouth. Sucking hard, he groaned at her taste, grinding up into her. Orihime moaned in his ear, gripping the hairs on his nape.

Still tasting her neck, Ichigo pulled at her top with new vigor. He wanted her bare. Feel smooth, damp skin under his rough palms.

"Stop…"

A small hand pushed him away.

He lifted his head from her neck, looking bemused.

"You're going to ruin my shirt…"

"What?"

Her lips quirked up and she unbuttoned her blouse. Ichigo stilled, watching her fingers, swallowing as more pale skin was revealed to his eyes. The blouse parted in the middle, and Orihime arched off the wall, letting it fall to the floor.

Ichigo was busy committing to memory the way her flushed skin glistened with sweat that he missed the hands threading through his hair. Orihime pulled him forward and kissed him slowly and deeply, as though tasting her favorite dessert, savoring every sweet morsel. He held her hips tightly and rolled his hips over and over.

Orihime twisted and broke their kiss with a gasp. Her arms tightened around him as she tossed her head back and wriggled against his hold.

"P-Please… I n-need- Oh!" She quivered and panted when he found the apex of her folds.

Another friction had her whimpering and writhing in his arms.

Sensing she was close, Ichigo held himself back. "Not here."

Her thighs squeezed his middle. "B-But…"

He shifted his hold and left the hallway.

Reaching his bed, Ichigo clutched her thighs and lifted them off his hips. She stumbled onto the bed, skirt askew. He followed, pulling his shirt over his head, and tugged his jeans open.

Mesmerized, Orihime eyed the hard expanse of muscles before her, wanting to taste him and run her tongue over the tight cords and ridges. She licked her lips, imagining his taste, and reached out to touch his chest with her fingertips.

His reaction enticed her further. He had trembled, panting, a slew of curses leaving his lips as his muscles quivered. Wanting more, she sat up and ran her trembling fingers down the center of his torso, skimming his taut belly. His chest vibrated as he groaned, the muscles in his arms bunching as he clenched his fists.

Flexing her fingers, she dragged her fingernails down his stomach and past his navel, tearing a harsh sound from his throat. Something in her tightened at that sound, causing her to bite her lip and fight down the urge to shoot off the bed to sink her teeth in his neck. The thought embarrassed her, as well as the strength of her desire. Worrying her lip, she peeked at him through her lashes, her fingers stopping.

"Don't stop."

Orihime blinked and stared.

He gritted his teeth and swallowed.

"Please."

_Oh. _

Her uncertainties faded as fast as they had cropped up. His eyes were narrowed, on fire, his face flushed. Orihime restarted her exploration, following the motions of her fingers with her eyes, marveling at the strength and savageness roiling underneath his skin.

She was tearing him apart. Piece by fucking piece.

Her touch was gentle and curious but to Ichigo, it was anything but. His blood was blazing underneath his skin, driving coherent thoughts off his mind. Every tender glide of her fingers, every soft breath she took, her gentleness - they drove him half-crazy.

A fingertip lightly traced the edge of his hip bone.

Another rush of sensation tore through him with viciousness that shook him.

Harder. He wanted it hard enough to bruise. He wanted her to leave her marks on his skin.

Ichigo gritted his teeth when her small hand slid inside his opened jeans.

"Fuck, Orihime," he hissed with a snarl, trembling as he moved his hips with her timid touch. His nails dug into his palms as he held back, letting her have control. For the time being, anyway.

She slipped a quivering hand inside his underwear and curled her fingers around him.

Ichigo swore viciously and bit his lip hard, eyes squeezed shut. He fisted the sheet, his muscles stretched tight as his pulse vibrated in his neck and wrists. Sweat slid down his back, disappearing inside his jeans. He felt swollen, dizzy with lust, overwhelmed by the chemistry between them.

"Y-You're so warm…" she sighed against his damp neck and pressed a tender kiss to his throat.

His heart lurched at the soft gesture. It whipped up a flood of lust that blew him away. Swallowing, Ichigo pulled away, slid off the bed and kicked off his jeans. In the bed, Orihime shifted, watching him, eyes alight with wonder.

Ichigo rejoined her and kissed her feverishly. Small hands clutched at his sweaty shoulders, tiny noises escaping her as his kiss deepened. Her bra was tugged away, his hands cupping her breasts. Orihime pulled away from his lips, gasping when he rolled and pinched her nipples, her nails leaving marks on his shoulders. Ichigo bent and pressed a kiss to her nipple, making her sigh, which later turned into a moan when he lifted her breast to his mouth and sucked hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh.

Panting, Ichigo pulled back and tugged her skirt and panties down her long legs. Her skin was white against his dark sheets, shimmering with sweat. He skimmed his palms over her thighs, held her knees and spread her legs open. He swept his thumb over her clit and gave her a gentle squeeze, causing her to jerk with a gasp.

"I-Ichigo-kun… I-"

"I know," he rasped, voice heavy with effort to control himself.

Knees digging into the mattress, he held her hip, brushing her pink sex with the tips of his fingers. Not taking the pressure off her clit, he slid two fingers into her. Her thighs quivered at the invasion, a sigh rushing from her lips. Ichigo pulled his fingers out and pressed them in deeply until his knuckles touched her slick folds. He then curled his fingers and pressed into a particularly sensitive spot.

"Oh!" Orihime gasped, her breaths now coming out in short, sharper puffs. Her hips rose and fell in time with his strokes. Very slowly, Ichigo removed his fingers, causing Orihime to whine.

Embarrassed at the amorous sound she had made, Orihime slapped a hand on her mouth, eyes wide under the tangles of hair over her forehead.

Ichigo caught the back of her knees and lifted her legs. Orihime stared up at him, eyes round, blushing fiercely at her vulnerable position. A smirk twisted his lips, the dark light in his eyes growing more distinct, causing her heart to race faster. He kissed the inside of her knee and bent over her spread thighs, running his tongue over her sex.

Biting back a startled cry, Orihime grabbed at the sheets. She tried to bring her legs together but Ichigo's grip was firm. Eyes shut, she pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle her moans. His strokes grew more fevered, urgent. She squirmed, red hair damp around her face and shoulders, when he focused his attention on the knot of nerves at the apex of her folds. He pulled back, licked his lips, and then leaned in, gently pinching her clit with his teeth.

Wild heat jolted through her down her toes.

"I-Ichi-" she panted, "-go-kun!" She gripped the sheets above her head, her wrists rolling as she pulled at them. The upsurge of sensation was too intense that she was shaking all over but he withdrew, teasing her with tiny licks, before slipping a finger inside her.

Another surge of pleasure rushed through her, thick and hot, and settled in her lower belly. A hand shot down between her legs to grab at his hair. She pulled and Ichigo growled. As though to retaliate, he deepened his strokes, adding another finger, playfully flicking his tongue over her clit. Her noises changed, louder, needy. Arching, Orihime's hips bucked as his fingers pressed into the spot of oversensitive nerves deep inside her. He kept stroking this spot while gently suckling on her clit. She felt trapped, in a hot, wild tidal wave, pushing her over the edge. She fought it, but it grew stronger, convulsing and blazing up to engulf her.

And it did.

There were no tears but she sobbed. Body taut, Orihime squeezed her eyes shut, unable to stop the noise that rose in her throat from escaping.

Ichigo did not let her come down from her high.

He crawled over her, his damp hair in a bed-tousled mess. Holding her hips, Ichigo entered her. Orihime moaned and held onto his broad shoulders. His next thrust rocked her world upside down.

"I'm not done with you yet." He kissed her panting mouth hard and slid his arms around her. Groaning, Ichigo pressed his face into her wet hair. He squeezed her bottom and drove deeper into her core. She inhaled sharply, legs twining around him.

Another hard thrust had Orihime clawing at his back, crying out as he rubbed her clit with his thumb.

"Shit." He kissed her hard and demanded, "Scratch me harder." Ichigo punctuated his demand with a deep thrust, and then ground into her. Orihime gasped and moaned, long and loud, her fingers scoring his back.

Ichigo did not stop; he kept lunging forward, an arm around her to keep her against his body. The headboard thumped the wall in time with his jerky movements. Her skin was so slippery with sweat that his grip kept on slipping. Bracing one arm on the bed, he lifted her bottom off the bed, taking her harder and faster. She strained to keep up with him, her breasts moving in time with his thrusts. Red hair covered her shoulders, curling around her torso and arms. He dug his knees into the mattress, his back flexing, panting against her mouth as he pounded into her.

Blowing out a curse, he lowered her back to the bed, held her hips and moved back and forth, rocking her forward and up and down against him. Orihime gasped his name, stiffened then trembled, keening as surge after surge of pleasure ripped through her. Ichigo gritted his teeth, biting back a gasp, thrusting faster until he groaned loudly, almost roaring. He pulled out and drove in as deep as he could over and over.

Now moving gently inside her, Ichigo stroked her side, sunk his fingers into her hair and kissed her lips. Her thin arms wrapped around him, a hand running up and down his back.

Ichigo broke off the kiss and heaved a deep sigh before rolling off with a grunt. Orihime bit back a whine at the loss of his warmth and drew in a breath. Brushing her hair off her cheek, she glanced in his direction and watched him pull in deep breaths, eyes closed. His hand caught hers, let go and his arm slid between the bed and her back, tugging her closer to him so that she was almost on top of him.

A roar of thunder shook the windowpanes.

Orihime let out a breath and draped an arm across Ichigo's waist.

Outside this bed, this alternate universe, the sky was roaring, alive.

And so was her heart.

* * *

**notes-**

/pokes head out of rabbit hole

ahaha it's been awhile! Hi and hello! i wish this was better but i did my best! i had to post this right now or i'll be stuck forever in this rabbit hole. Nevertheless i hope you're entertained! I finished this at 3 sittings but i spent 2 months brutally editing and rewriting it until it "felt" right. And a lot happened; in short, LIFE happened. /claws at the ground

OK acknowledgement/disclaimer because:

_Strawberry soufflé_ (baked cheese soufflé with strawberries) is a product of FLOR Patisserie.

(p.s. thank you for your time and patience! 8D)


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